


In Which Tongue Will We Speak

by todisturbtheuniverse



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Courtship, F/F, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-08-29
Packaged: 2018-08-11 20:43:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7907053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/todisturbtheuniverse/pseuds/todisturbtheuniverse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cassandra attempts to make her feelings clear to Josephine, missing entirely that Josephine has tried to do the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which Tongue Will We Speak

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Liquid_Lyrium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liquid_Lyrium/gifts).



> Giveaway fic for liquidlyrium on Tumblr; the requested prompt was "Pentilyet. Cassandra tries to learn how best to speak Josie's language of love in order to woo her. How to communicate her feelings a way Josie would understand."

Varric's books painted romance in a very different light than Cassandra had ever experienced it. The hero and heroine pined for one another; their desire for their beloved was palpable on every page they shared; Cassandra could not believe that either protagonist ever truly thought they would be kept apart, for the sheer magnetism of their love could not be denied.

Not so in her pursuit of Josephine. She was sure she'd never caught the ambassador staring across the keep at her, longing in her eyes. If someone was pining, Cassandra was certain it was her alone.

She had not yet decided if she wanted to act on these feelings. It could not truly be called a _pursuit_ yet. She valued her professional relationship with Josephine, not to mention their friendship. They had shared meals together, discussed literature together, given words of comfort to one another when the world threatened to fall down around them all. Cassandra would miss that friendship sorely if her affection was unwanted, if it somehow made things awkward between them.

She did not think too deeply on it; she kept herself busy. The answer would come to her when it liked, and not before. There was always something to do, after all, from sharpening her blades to assisting Cullen with the new recruits. The Inquisitor did not like to leave Skyhold without Cassandra, so she was often on the field or on her way to the field, too displeased by the ice-cold rain that always found a way into her collar to think of such pleasant things as Josephine. And when there was a moment of stillness, she could always find a way to fill it: a book, an errand, keeping her own skills sharp.

This particular moment of stillness was solved with a sparring match against Blackwall. _Rainier_ , she corrected herself, but the name never stuck. She had recently decided that she preferred beating the stuffing out of him to ignoring him. She could admit—grudgingly, and only to herself—that he bore it without complaint, which was a small mark in his favor. A _very_ small mark.

They had been going for a few minutes; it was their third round of the day, and despite the warmth of her muscles, Skyhold's cool breeze found the sweat soaked into her clothes and chilled her. She gave a last, mighty swing of her shield, and Blackwall staggered and went down in the mud.

Behind her, someone clapped politely. Bracing herself to fend off another starry-eyed new recruit, she turned, only to find Josephine standing there instead, smile on her face, red whipped into her cheeks by the wind, a few strands of her hair blown free. This sight distracted Cassandra so much that she absentmindedly offered a hand to Blackwall to help him up.

"I was passing by," Josephine explained, leaning on the fence. "Your skill is breathtaking as always." She took a breath, and for a moment, seemed to be about to extend the same sentiment to Blackwall, but he had already turned his back to stride off to the opposite side of the ring.

"Thank you," Cassandra said. There was something about even these simple words that emerged clumsy and awkward from her mouth. It was not the language; she was no more articulate or musical in Nevarran. No, she was simply no good with words, as far from Josephine as she could possibly be.

When Cassandra said nothing further, Josephine continued, "I'm sorry we haven't been able to take a moment away for some time; I feel as if the Inquisitor always takes you along to the field as soon as my schedule clears."

"She is forever claiming that she has impeccable timing," Cassandra said, a little dryly. "I shall have to inform her that it is not as she imagines it."

Josephine laughed, covering her wide smile with her hand, her eyes dancing. Cassandra's stomach squirmed happily in reaction. She was a woman grown, and too old by far for the giddiness Josephine inspired; she had, in fact, never experienced it before, and thought herself immune.

It had not been this way with Galyan. Perhaps that giddiness had been lost in the fear, the adrenaline, of their first meeting. She did not doubt that she had loved him, but it had been very different from this.

"Have you had a chance to read that book I lent to you yet?" Josephine asked. "I imagine, when you're at the end of a long day in the Exalted Plains, the last thing you want is to keep your eyes open to read—"

"No, that isn't the case," Cassandra interrupted. "Reading for a time soothes me, after a day of marching around. I have finished the book."

"Ah." Josephine's smile seemed a little nervous. "What did you think?"

Cassandra shifted her shield, frowning. "It is…hard to describe."

"I don't wish to put you on the spot—"

"Not at all. But are you needed elsewhere during supper?" Cassandra could not keep the hopeful note from her voice. "Perhaps we could—"

"Ambassador! Ambassador Montilyet!"

Cassandra bit her tongue on a curse; Josephine, too, briefly looked as if she would like nothing better than to ignore the secretary running, knees akimbo, toward them.

"This raven just came in," the woman—barely more than a girl—said, skidding to a halt and thrusting out the roll of vellum. "From—"

Josephine took the scroll, held up a finger to the secretary, and began to read. Awkwardly, Cassandra stood, hoping—fruitlessly, she knew—that any of her forward momentum remained.

"I must reply to this," Josephine said, and looked up at Cassandra with an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry; Duke Vadas sent this ahead to inform me of his arrival. He should be here within the hour, and I will likely be entertaining him the rest of the day." She shook her head; it was not in Josephine's nature to look sour, but she did a very nice rueful, better than Cassandra had ever imagined it while reading one of Varric's books. "Please, forgive me. I truly want to hear your thoughts, but—"

"No apology is necessary." Cassandra stepped back. "Your time is invaluable to the Inquisition. I would not dream of imposing upon it for trivial matters."

Josephine's smile faltered; she gave a nod of acquiescence and turned away. Cassandra watched her go, away up the steps and into the keep, her sword held loosely in her hand.

"You likely don't want my advice," Blackwall commented from behind her, "but flowers would be a good start."

Automatically, Cassandra's shoulders crept up toward her ears. A headache was developing at the base of her neck. "I don't know what you mean."

"It seems like you want to pursue her."

Cassandra made a noise in her throat: not exactly assenting, but not denying.

"Flowers would declare your intent," Blackwall pointed out. "Get things started."

"I know that," Cassandra said—a little too sharply, but it wasn't as if Blackwall didn't deserve it. "I grew up in a noble house; my uncle may have preferred the dead, but my brother did not."

Behind her, Blackwall coughed, but it sounded very much like he was trying to conceal a laugh. Cassandra found that she did not mind _too_ much.

"What's stopping you, then?" he asked.

"Plenty," she said. "Another round?"

Blackwall shook the mud off his boot. "As you wish."

* * *

Cassandra found a very old, very battered copy of _A Nevarran Gentleman's Guide to Love_ in the Skyhold library and managed to smuggle it out without any of the librarians—or _Dorian_ —noticing. She did not have much hope for having evaded Leliana; the back of her neck prickled the entire time, acutely aware of the spymaster's presence a single floor up.

In Nevarra, courtship was overly cautious. One might write to the family of one's affection first, to declare interest and extol one's own virtues, convincing them that it would be a suitable match. Several weeks then passed where only short conversations were had, where tokens were sometimes exchanged.

Cassandra thought that they had already rushed quite ahead of this book's guidelines. Though they both had duties that kept them busy, they had previously had many conversations—in the garden, in Cassandra's loft, before Josephine's fire—that related in no way to the Inquisition. They had discussed books, primarily, but Josephine had told Cassandra a little of her family, and Cassandra had revealed a little of her own. Josephine, sensing her reticence on the subject, often asked after her time in the Seekers instead. This, too, was bittersweet, given recent events, but she found it easier to talk about than Anthony. Once, they had stayed up well after everyone but the night watch had gone to bed, drinking spiced tea and discussing the new installment of _Swords and Shields_ until they had covered nearly every line.

She returned the book and, the next time the Inquisitor asked her along to Val Royeaux, found a guide on Antivan courtship customs instead. This was no help, either. A first outing for a potential couple might include coffee, dessert, and conversation until sunup. They had done these things, and they were still nothing other than friends.

Ultimately, she returned to Blackwall's suggestion: flowers. Surely even the closest women did not give one another such a token in the name of friendship.

The Inquisitor took them to the Emerald Graves next. Cassandra, one night when her duties were complete, went in search of a peculiar scarlet bloom she'd seen earlier in the day. It was an unusual-looking flower, with a narrow, fluted blossom, but she liked it best of all those she'd seen.

The flowers were not hard to find, but the note accompanying them was much harder. And there _must_ be a note, for otherwise, Josephine would not know who was attempting to pursue her. Cassandra spent a long hour by the fire, a scrap of vellum held down on a lap-desk, and could think of nothing to say.

She wanted to be direct, but not too direct. She did not want to pressure Josephine. She did not want to damage their friendship. Maker help her, maybe she ought to ask _Varric_ —

"What're you up to, Seeker?"

She jumped and nearly upset both the ink bottle and desk; too late, she saw Varric's eyes slide to the flowers neatly bundled at her feet. Of course, merely _thinking_ of asking him for help caused him to appear. He would never miss the opportunity to gloat.

"Oho," he said, a note of triumph in his voice, and seated himself across from her, grinning. "This should be good."

She glared, but it was no use; Varric had always been infuriatingly impervious to her glares, even the worst of them. They had never had an easy relationship, but they were…friends. Of a sort. Who liked to berate one another.

She steadied the ink bottle. He waited, unusually patient, as if he knew exactly what was about to happen.

"I won't tell you who they're for," she said.

"I think I can guess." She wrenched her mouth open to argue, but he waved her off. "I won't, though. So what's the problem?"

"I don't…" In absence of her sword, her fingers curled around her writing desk. "I don't know what to say. I want to—indicate my interest, but I don't want to create tension. Our friendship is important to me," she added, defeated. "Perhaps I should not do this at all."

"No, no, no. Look, if it's who I think it is, you have nothing to worry about." At her narrowed eyes, he shook his head. "You can't go wrong with a compliment or two, if you want to be clear. Tell this person you miss them. It's not a marriage proposal. Just an invitation to spend more time together."

"Why must this be so difficult?" Cassandra muttered, trying to think of a compliment that sounded neither too crass nor too bland. She did not want Josephine to think that it was merely a physical attraction, but nor did she want her to think that she didn't find her beautiful; what middle ground—

"You're overthinking it," Varric said. "Which is really something, by the way. I've never seen you overthink anything. I don't think I like it."

"Go to bed, dwarf, and stop pestering me," she said, bending over the vellum, pen clutched too tightly in her fingers.

He chuckled. "With all the romance novels you've read, I'd think you'd be better at this."

"Life is not a story," she said—not as sharply as she intended, and the words sounded too sad, free of her throat; she wished, almost immediately, that she could take them back.

"Yeah." Varric heaved himself to his feet; the mirth previously in his voice was gone. She looked up again, just in time to see the melancholy on his face before it rearranged into his usual easy smile.

"Thank you, Varric," she said, before she could second-guess herself, which she had done far too much lately.

This, too, he waved off, but at least she had said it.

_Dear Josephine,_

_We have been in the Emerald Graves for a week, but I believe the Inquisitor intends to depart soon. It is just as well; even though I do not see you enough while I am at Skyhold, it is a comfort to know you are near._

_When I return, will you set aside some time to take a meal with me? I've read this book you lent me a second time this week, and want more than ever to discuss it with you._

_Yours,_

_Cassandra_

* * *

She should have known that, if the odd books she was smuggling in and out of Skyhold's library did not provoke Leliana into confronting her, _this_ would.

She had barely dismounted her horse inside the gates when Leliana found her and spirited her away, up to the rookery where she spent most of her time, under the guise of "urgent business." Varric managed to catch Cassandra's eye and give her a heartily sympathetic—if amused—look before Leliana dragged her off.

"I knew you were thinking of pursuing someone, given the books you kept taking out," Leliana said, once they were away in the rookery, "but I did not think that someone would be _Josephine_."

Cassandra folded her arms over her chest. It felt much more real—and much less like a silly daydream—with the words out in the open, formed by Leliana's voice. "Do you disapprove?"

Leliana leaned against her table, frowning. "I am not sure," she said. "I have known you for a long time, but I have not seen you in love. Not really."

Difficult as it was, she felt she ought to be truthful with Leliana. "My duty to the Seekers always came first, and there was never anyone who captivated me like her. We…Galyan and I," she clarified, and Leliana nodded. "We both had other obligations. Those were our priority, not one another."

"What has changed?" Leliana asked. "You hope to rebuild the Seekers; you have the Inquisition; you are a candidate for the divine—"

"We both know that you will be the next divine, not I," Cassandra scoffed. "Can you imagine?"

Leliana smiled at that. "You would do well enough, Cassandra."

"You will do better, not the least because you actually want the role." She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "I do have other priorities, it's true, but I want to find…a balance. I want her to be part of it. She is not without her own duties. She will not always have time for me. I hope we will understand each other."

Leliana's brows, so often furrowed, relaxed; the tightness at the corners of her eyes eased. "Truthfully, I can think of no one better, but…"

"But you are protective of her."

"I don't wish to see her hurt."

"Nor do I," Cassandra said, very firmly. "Besides, she might not even have me."

Leliana raised one brow, obviously skeptical. "If you say so." She bent over the stack of reports at her table. "You must be tired; I won't keep you longer."

"I am not overly fond of horses," Cassandra admitted.

Leliana chuckled. "I know."

Cassandra trudged along to her loft above the smithy. In truth, her conversation with Leliana had made her feel a hundred times more tired than the long ride to Skyhold. She wanted nothing more than a bath, even if it meant fighting her colleagues for one of the tubs; there always seemed to be a shortage right after the Inquisitor returned to the keep.

To her surprise, however, a tub already waited in her loft; a few long-stemmed roses lay across her desk, holding down a note. Hanging up her sword and shield, she carefully shifted the flowers aside and picked up the message.

_Dear Cassandra,_

_If you are not too tired, and the scouts are to be believed about the day of your estimated arrival, I am free of other appointments on the night you return. Will you come to dinner in my rooms at sunset? I believe that will give you adequate time to soak._

_Yours,_

_Josephine_

Surely this could only mean that Cassandra was not, in fact, careening blindly through the dark, that however clumsy she'd been, Josephine had understood her feelings and returned them. Unless she was planning to gently rebuke her over dinner. That would be very like Josephine, to go on being kind, even in the midst of rejection.

Cassandra shook her head, set her jaw. She would have preferred to go immediately, mud and all, to have an _answer_ , but she could not reject the gift. She was not certain how word had gotten back to Josephine that she occasionally— _occasionally_ —enjoyed a steaming bath, infused with rose petals, but given the amount of gossip Skyhold's inhabitants enjoyed, perhaps it should not have come as a surprise.

* * *

At sundown, she brought the book with her to Josephine's rooms. She feared it was worse for the wear than when she'd received it, over a month ago. She took great care with her books—even greater with the books of others—but it had been in and out of her saddlebags, on the road and in the field, for some time.

Then again, it had been somewhat worn to begin with. Josephine obviously held this book very dear; it was all the more touching, then, that she had shared it with Cassandra.

She did not hesitate before knocking, even though her fingers clutched the book tight. Not for the first time, she wished that it was not frowned upon to wear armor for a meeting with one's paramour. Galyan had teased her about that, but in truth, armor was usually a good idea for their meetings; their obligations seemed relentless in following them, even to quiet meals.

"Cassandra," Josephine said, pulling the door open; her smile was wide and cheerful, surely not the expression of someone about to deliver a rejection.

Cassandra's shoulders eased. With the sun's last light shining on her, Josephine was a beacon for a weary traveler. She had done something different with her hair, tied into a loose braid, and flowers were pinned in place throughout; Cassandra recognized them as the blossoms she'd sent from the Emerald Graves. They perfectly matched the embroidery on Josephine's dress.

"Do come in; the food just arrived," Josephine said, oblivious to Cassandra's admiration. Her eyes flicked to the book and back to Cassandra's face, and she stood aside.

"Thank you." Cassandra stepped inside. Josephine had a small sitting room with a warm fire, the miniature duplicate of her office parlor; as soon as the door had closed behind Cassandra, the welcome warmth of the room enveloped her.

"How was your journey?" Josephine asked, moving to the table.

"It rained," Cassandra said, "and then the temperature fell. I have spent many years traveling, but I believe I've never seen frozen mud of quite that consistency before. It stuck to everything."

Josephine laughed, gesturing to a seat at the table. Cassandra sat. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't laugh. It sounds terrible."

"It was not pleasant, no," Cassandra agreed. "In retrospect, however, there have been worse journeys. Have you been very busy?"

"I'm afraid so," Josephine said. "The social season is just beginning, and routes up the mountain are much clearer than they were a month ago. We've had a stream of visitors. More and more arrive daily."

"I cannot tell if you are relieved or alarmed."

"A little of both," Josephine said, smiling. "I like to be busy—and yet, I've missed being able to make time for my friends. Even Leliana and I have had very little to say to one another for weeks that was not about business. We are all overworked." She held up a bottle of wine. "This is from a family friend in Antiva; they know I get homesick for it, so they send a bottle along when they can. Would you like a glass?"

"Please."

Josephine poured, and they both turned to their food for a few moments. Cassandra tried, more than once, to unstick her throat and say something, carry the conversation along, but she was not certain where she stood, and afraid to make the wrong move. Had Josephine's comment about friends been a hint that that was all they were? Was she reading into it too far? Varric had accused her of doing that, every time she tried to ask him about some fine point in his books; perhaps—

"I simply cannot stand the suspense," Josephine said eventually, and Cassandra chewed more quickly, hoping that she would not still be doing so when an answer was required of her. "Please, tell me what you think of _Held Tongues_."

"I am almost afraid to answer," Cassandra said. "I think it is very dear to you."

"Could you tell by the dog-eared pages?" Josephine asked, her eyes twinkling. "I have never seen you treat your books so, no matter how much you like them."

"I leave dried flowers between pages I particularly like," Cassandra admitted.

Josephine gave a delighted laugh. "You are full of surprises. It's true, it's been a favorite story of mine since I was a young girl, but I will not be offended if you did not like it."

"I did like it," Cassandra said, too quickly. "Make no mistake, I do not read anything I dislike more than once. I only felt…"

"Yes?" Josephine prompted, when Cassandra hesitated.

"The knight," Cassandra said, frowning. "I was not overly fond of her. There were so many times when I wished she would simply say what she meant; her thoughts seemed clear, but she could never convey them properly to the diplomat."

"That's funny," Josephine said. "The knight is my favorite character."

"Really?" Cassandra raised her eyebrows, incredulous. "Why?"

"I agree that she sometimes has trouble—especially conveying her feelings properly—"

Cassandra snorted.

"But she was earnest," Josephine continued, slightly louder. "Here—this passage." Almost impatiently, she picked up her chair, moved it closer to Cassandra, and picked up the book, rifling through the pages. Cassandra saw that the fold on the corner of this page was particularly severe; she thought it possible that the corner would come off entirely soon.

Josephine read aloud:

" _No part of her pride, her ego, remained unbruised. Despite this, however, she stood unbent in the face of her friend's news—news that would take them further apart than they had ever been for the sake of duty, for obligation. No, this was far worse._

" _'Will you accept him, then?' she asked, the words wooden, while Lady Alessa paced, agitated, before her fire._

" _'I do not know,' she replied, and looked, at last, at Ser Clara. 'My family would not force me to, if I did not wish it—but—I wonder how I can refuse, when I have no other suitor. I have not, for years.'_

_The knight had faced many dangers in her life, but this seemed most frightening of them all. 'I should tell you, then—before the opportunity is lost to me forever—that I…' Her voice, however briefly, failed. 'Do not marry him. Please. I have been a coward, but I love you.'_ "

The spell created by Josephine's voice broke; Cassandra, who had been following the words on the page opened before them, shook her head. "She should have come forward earlier—can you imagine the agony she would have spared Lady Alessa?"

"Lady Alessa was not blameless," Josephine argued. "She could have been much more plain, as well. She expected the knight to understand her hints, but Ser Clara is from a different world than hers."

"I thought she was quite plain," Cassandra said. "Her situation was clear. She couldn't pursue a knight openly, let alone a woman, no matter how independent she was, that her parents had not approved—"

"She was not some docile noble daughter," Josephine interrupted, exasperated. "She had a career, influence all her own, prospects that had nothing to do with courtship or marriage. The typical restrictions did not apply to her."

"She still had a right to be afraid," Cassandra pointed out. "What if Ser Clara didn't return her feelings? She was not exactly easy to read."

Josephine opened her mouth as if to reply, but sighed instead, short and frustrated. Cassandra had the peculiar feeling that they were no longer talking about the book; she had never seen Josephine so heated, her brow furrowed, her hands animated, even when they had discussed literature during long evenings before.

"If Ser Clara was not easy to read, it was because Lady Alessa was not paying attention," Josephine said. "She did not make the effort to understand someone who used words differently than she did—"

It was brash, and thoughtless, but Cassandra had been tiptoeing around this—contrary to her nature—for far too long. Josephine was at her side, barely inches away, and it was easy, in that moment, to cup her cheek in hand, to lean down—for even sitting, she was somewhat taller—and kiss her.

Her lips parted—perhaps in surprise, for Cassandra heard her exhale sharply, but she did not try to lean away; on the contrary, she pressed back, her mouth soft on Cassandra's, her hand curving around the back of Cassandra's neck. Cassandra breathed the sweet smell of the flowers in Josephine's hair, the light scent of her skin, and any lingering cold from the road home was chased away.

When Cassandra pulled back, Josehine's eyes were half-lidded, hazy. "The flowers," Cassandra tried to explain. "I was trying to speak your language."

Josephine patted the book still open on the table between them, smiling. "I was trying to speak yours."


End file.
